


Control

by sunaddicted



Series: 007 Games Fics 2k17 [13]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Q remembered patterns; he had an eye for them, it was both a benediction - if one considered his line of work - and a curse.





	1. 1

_1._

Q remembered patterns; he had an eye for them, it was both a benediction - if one considered his line of work - and a curse. Everything happened for a reason, byproduct of a precise and specific set of causes that had all lined up together like a domino; just like in maths, some of the variables could change and lead at the same result but, knowing a satisfying amount of facts, it was easy enough to pinpoint them down in the end.

He could have been a really good analyst, if only his one true love hadn't been technology and the essentially mathematical and clean world of coding - he was Quartermaster, instead: a nameless ghost.

Q shook his head at himself: that was an unnecessarily dramatic description, he was so much more than that.

He looked at himself in the mirror, damp with the steam of the shower, trembling hands running down his ribs; he had always had a sharp-edged figure and a fast enough metabolism that burned through everything he ate. Still, he could see where hunger had eaten away at the precious layer of fat that he'd managed to build up in the last years: there were only bones now, seemingly trying to tear through thin skin.

Q liked to think that he'd just forgotten to eat a couple of meals here and there and that, consequently, his sensitive stomach had closed up.

But waking up in the morning had become hard. Sitting up too. And just watching at the world around him had started to take too much of an effort, black spots appearing in his sight. His whole body protested every single movement and if it hadn't been for his sense of duty and how much he loved his job, Q would have gladly stayed in bed and slowly withered away - dried up like a rose between the pages of a poetry book, a friend from a past life had once commented.

He couldn't remember whether he'd been flattered or offended by the implication that he was a pretentious romantic going through a phase.

What he remembered though, it was that he had found himself at the beginning of that particular metaphorical slippery slope often enough in his life to recognise it.

Q's fingers skimmed over his sternum as he put on his shirt, a plain white thing that would go completely unnoticed under one of his brightly coloured cardigans. He wasn't as obsessed with them as he made people believe - the reason was a more practical one than a mere fashion statement: vivid colours and curious patterns attracted the eye and distracted it, hiding his less than perfect body to anyone looking.

He didn't want to end up in Medical and suspended from duty - because that would happen, if anyone caught wind of what was going on with him. Q could take care of himself, he had done so plenty of times; sure, he'd stumbled on his road to recovery and had to be checked into hospital, but that was when he had been younger and hadn't quite known how to deal with his problem.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away" Q murmured out aloud, Turing purring in what he decided to interpret as approval. It would be difficult but that was the only way he could start getting back on track: apples were reasonably small, healthy, rich in nutrients - vitamins, sugar and fibres - that he was sorely lacking in that moment.

It didn't matter that, in the beginning, Q would have to eat apple slices throughout the day to actually manage to finish the fruit.

"Starting from tomorrow, though" Q said as he peered into his empty fridge, ribcage heaving after the effort of walking the short distance from the bedroom to the kitchen.

He could easily buy an apple on his way to work or even in MI6 cafeteria - the truth was, a part of his mind wanted to wallow in that state and opposed to recovery. Q needed to stomp on it before the venomous attitude took a hold: he couldn't afford it, he already was too thin.

Sighing, he closed the door of the fridge and went through the cabinets in search of literally anything to eat - to show that part of his mind that it could go and fuck itself because he was the one in control.

He settled on half of a stale rusk - carbohydrates would be good anyway. Q nibbled on it slowly, washing the small bites down with copious amounts of tea. By the time he was done, his forehead was covered in cold sweat and his stomach hurt but, before he could get weird ideas in his head, Q stuffed his fingers deep in the pockets of his anorak and went out of the house.

Q wasn't ill, he wouldn't lower himself to induce vomiting after eating just a rusk.

He wouldn't.

It was a mantra that Q had to repeat to himself all the way to MI6 and for a good part of the morning, until he rationally knew that it was too late - that he'd digested his meagre breakfast and throwing up would be of no use, just damaging - and tension melted away from his body, leaving him finally free to do his work in peace.

"Could you bring me some tea, please?" Q asked out aloud without raising his eyes from the laptop, fingers flying over the keys: there always was someone working close enough to him that would pick up on his request "Extra sugar"

His system was all about rewards and, for now, sugary tea was the highest one Q could earn himself. Once his diet became richer, the rewards too would become more varied and interesting: a glass of wine, a cigarette, a truffle - he just needed to grit his teeth through the first phase of recovery.

And if there was an apt adjective to describe Q, it was stubborn.  


	2. 2

_2._

Q was quickly growing tired of apples, their taste evolving into starch and overly sugary on his tongue; he could have easily switched to another kind of fruit - oranges, bananas, grapes - but he'd always started with apples and Q knew that if he changed his winning strategy, he would fail.

He couldn't afford that so, with a heavy sigh, Q grabbed a bag of green apples without bothering to read the variety and dropped it in his basket to join a packet of Earl Grey, cat food and a carton of Orange juice.

"What a sad items collection you have there"

"Bond!" Q turned on his heel, the basket held close to his chest with trembling wrists "What the fuck are you doing here? And don't you dare telling me that you happened to stroll in this Tesco"

James arched an eyebrow - not at Q's colourful language, but at how shaken up he looked: he was jumpier than a cat in a foreign environment "Easy, Q"

The clearly soothing tone made Q bristle with irritation "Answer the question" he reiterated, letting the Quartermaster - someone Bond respected and, from time to time, obeyed to - seep through his words like blood oozing from a slowly clotting wound.

"I didn't mean to be patronising" James made clear, frowning as he took in every detail that screamed at him just how bothered Q seemed to be; sure, they didn't interact often outside of the sheltered environment of MI6, but he had thought that their friendships would hold also in the real world - apparently, it wasn't so: Q was too skittish to show whether he felt any trust towards him "I was concerned so, I followed you"

"Concerned?" Q inquired, alarmed. Cold sweat started to bead under his curly bangs, black spots littering his sight as his heartbeat increases rather dramatically, forcing his heart to make an effort for which it didn't have enough energy "About what?"

James took a step closer, one hand gently cupping Q's elbow "You looked.. troubled for the better part of the morning" he started to explain, thumb petting the soft wool of the younger man's sweater "I wanted to make sure that you were... alright" he admitted, not without a bit of shame: James wasn't used to showing how much he cared to the few people he considered friends and, at Q's reaction, he felt even more exposed than he normally would in such a situation.

"I'm fine" Q rushed to reassure, pushing his glasses up his nose "Thank you"

"You.." James squeezed the other's elbow, mentally asking himself whether Q had always been so thin; to his surprise, he couldn't recall exactly: in his memories, Q had always been willowy but his attention had been distracted by the other's eccentric clothes to actually focus on the build of his body "You really don't look fine"

"I'm just tired" Q dismissed the agent's concern "I need to finish doing my shopping" he raised his basket in an emphasis - not that he had been planning to add more to it but now that Bond was watching him and would probably follow him home, Q decided to add another couple of things in order to wave away any suspicions the agent might get.

"Thank you, though" Q added, briefly caressing the hand squeezing his elbow: it had been a long time since someone had cared about him so explicitly and, despite the fear of his... issue being discovered, Q felt warm and cherished "Don't stand too long outside of my home: it's cold outside"

James watched Q walk away after those words but he didn't follow after him, even if worry gnawed at the back of his mind: the younger man had clearly displayed a need to stay alone and James, a private person himself, decided not to impose himself on the other's alone time. Instead, James looked down at his half-empty basket and proceeded to toss inside a bottle of cheap whiskey to go with the tub of strawberry icecream and packet of crisps he'd already put inside.

Admittedly, James couldn't lecture Q over how healthy he ate: he didn't have the higher moral ground when his diet often consisted of trash food and alcohol because he couldn't be arsed to cook just for himself.

Though, he did follow Q home - otherwise, James wouldn't have been able to sleep that night: in some twisted way, he'd appointed himself as Q's protector for that evening and he would be unstable until he saw the younger man inside his home.

Safe.

James watched through the window Q bend down to cuddle two cats, face hidden in their floof, before he dished out some food for them - none for himself, though.

The worried voice started chattering again in his mind and James attempted to stomp down on it, the more rational part of his brain telling it in clear and loud words that there was no need to worry: Q had said that he was tired and James knew very well that when he was, eating was the last thing on his mind - only the bed called to him.

Still, James promised to keep the younger man on his watch as he leapt down the roof on which he'd perched himself to spy on Q - a twisted parody of a capeless Batman.


	3. 3

_3._

Thinking about it, Q should have known that his usual plan of attack wouldn't have worked and that, by the end of a couple of weeks, he would be back at the starting point: staring at an empty fridge as he desperately tried to remember when exactly his last meal had been.

It had been quite an an amateurish mistake on his part, considering his experience with the problem and how much he prided himself about being so good at analysing situations and finding solutions.

Q had ignored a huge difference - a fundamental variable - in the pattern from usual: unlike the last time he had found himself in such a situation, Q hadn't had a job in MI6.

Work influenced his life in so many different ways: worry and nerves made his already meagre appetite disappear; tiredness and long shifts made it so much easier for him to forget about doing the shopping; being alone most of the times meant that nobody actually noticed how little he was eating.

Q couldn't believe that his brain had decided not to take it in account and worked out a more feasible plan to go back to eating in a more healthy way.

And, not so deep down, Q was terrified by his mistake: if he started dismissing such glaring details, how could he guarantee the safety of his agents? What if he killed one of them because he hadn't managed to get his shit together?

It was a possibility that would give Q nightmares and sleep would be even more difficult to come to him, keeping him well awake to the wee hours of the morning when his cats, tired of roaming around and causing mischief in the dark, would jump in bed with him and curl close to his body for a nap.

"Alright" he said to himself as he shook himself out of his morose thoughts, a vain attempt at soothing his fraying nerves and regain part of his lucidity, and focused on the computer screen in front of him; Q needed his mind to be quick and unburdened by worry, in order to both find a suitable solution to his problem - a way to ensure that he wouldn't once again lose sight of his objective - and avoid awakening any suspicions in his colleagues.

"You're talking to yourself again, my dear" Eve piped up once Q's eyes became focused again and tossed on the desk a heavy pile of paperwok "If you keep doing that, the evil and mad genius label will stuck" she added teasingly, patting one of the younger man's shoulders to calm him down.

Q took a deep breath as he glared at Eve "I hate you lot"

"My lot? What have secretaries ever done to you?" Eve grinned "Apart from giving you paperwok?"

"As if that wouldn't be and enough" Q sighed, tugging closer to himself the files so that he could start sorting through them and decide which ones had priority and needed to be read and signed as soon as possible "With your lot, I meant field agents"

Eve plucked the papers that Q was squinting at from his hand and set them aside in a clear indication that they could wait, knowing perfectly what was written on them "I'm not a field agent anymore"

Q arched an eyebrow, fingers running through the pages of another file "Please, Moneypenny" he said in a no nonsense tone "You're an agent at heart, no matter what you're doing now"

"Fine" Eve sighed, pushing the tower of paperwork away from in front of Q and giving a small kick to his chair, so that it would spin in her direction and they could face each other "Your comment leads me to believe that lately another agent has scared the shit out of you while you were daydreaming"

"You read too much in what I say" Q scowled, feeling a telltale blush rise to his cheeks.

"Come on, tell Auntie Eve who it was" she teased gently, the words almost sung in her throat "I'll beat them up for you"

"Bond" the other admitted in a sigh "Please, don't beat him up: he meant well"

Eve leaned over and ruffled Q's hair, concernedly looking down at her friend and the way his facial features had seemed to have become sharper; she knew that he worked too much, pushed himself to a point where he didn't even realise just how much he was asking to his body and mind - a candle burning from both ends "He always means well, even if his plans often end up falling apart" Eve observed.

"That's because he doesn't think them through" Q pointed out, ducking his head away from under Eve's hand - more in an attempt at hiding his face rather than escaping the gentle caresses to his curls.

"While you overanalyse them"

"That's my job" Q replied in a defensive way.

Eve knew that she had gotten close to something that was bothering her friend and wished she had the strenght to pursue it, but the sharpness of Q's words kept her from doing so. She bent down from her perch on the other's desk and kissed his forehead in a sisterly sign of affection "It is, but don't fry this big brain of yours: I'm rather fond of it"

Q sighed in relief, eyes closed "Don't worry, Moneypenny: I'm taking care of myself"

Truth was, Q had never been a good liar. 

**Author's Note:**

> Eating disorders are different for everyone - this is written as a person with an extremely disordered eating so, I ask that you're constructive in your criticism. 
> 
> Also because I went through this, I want to say from the start that Q and James' relationship won't evolve past friendship: personal experience taught me that a partner won't suddenly solve your issues.


End file.
